


One of These Mornings

by waltwhitmans



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Brief mentions of abusive relationships, M/M, it's a story about trauma, otp: wait that's my word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 03:37:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20923535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltwhitmans/pseuds/waltwhitmans
Summary: These things he'd carried with him for months or years, left over from the bad times and lonely nights, all of it stained by the men who had used him - they couldn't hurt him anymore. They weren't coming with him.How to leave things behind.





	One of These Mornings

The weather in March was about the same in South Bend as it was in Chicago but the wind coming off the river wasn't as bad as the Lake Effect. That was the Midwest for you: bitter cold winters, broiling hot summers, and brief periods of beautiful weather in between. Chasten had lived his entire life in the extremes and he wouldn't say that he loved it, though he felt he was stronger for having survived them. But he thought he was due for a little good weather. 

Pete was really quite shy about asking. He turned pink and stammered his way through a short monologue about their relationship and moving forward, before digging into his pocket and producing a key. "Driving back and forth is getting old," he said. "Move to South Bend. Live with me."

"Are you serious?"

"I'm tired of rattling around the house by myself," Pete said. His voice had steadied but there were still two rosy spots on his cheeks. "It's too big for one person. There should be a family in this house."

How far that was in the future, neither could say. But it was a big house. And the two hour drive was too much to do every weekend. And they were always reaching for each other, missing each other when they were apart and hated to go home on Sunday afternoon. It just made sense. Chasten made a show of putting the key on his ring, and he kissed Pete. 

He wasn't surprised. He shouldn't have been. He had started to look forward to his weekends in South Bend so much there were times he could hardly concentrate on anything else. He would think about going back as soon as he got on the highway. More than once he had to talk himself out of turning around and going back. He had commitments in Chicago, work and school, and he couldn't play hooky with his boyfriend all the time. Now he didn't have to. 

Pete asked at the end of February. Good timing on his part: Chasten's lease was up at the end of March. Enough time to give notice, pack up his apartment, let people know where he was going, but not so long that it seemed like forever. As soon as he got home that evening he started going through his stuff and throwing out everything he wouldn't need when he moved. He realized that he wouldn't need a lot of it. Dishes and silverware? Pete had those. The broom, the mop, the Swiffer? Pete had those too. Chasten went as far as packing up the books he knew Pete already owned. He had moved so often since college that he knew how much easier it would be if he brought as little as possible. 

Chasten worked on packing up his apartment for a few weeks, an hour or two each night he was there. He started bringing the nonessentials with him to South Bend on the weekends. Pete cleared a drawer for him, reorganized his closet so Chasten could have half. Chasten started to feel established there, and tried to ignore the voice in the back of his head, the one that said it was going to end like all his other relationships had ended, so don't get comfortable. No. Pete was different. Pete wasn't scared of the baggage. Pete hadn't flinched when Chasten laid it all out, held him, let him cry. Pete was a grown man who knew exactly what he wanted from a relationship. He'd been alone for almost all his life and he wasn't going to dance around the unknown factors. He was steady. Chasten needed steady. 

"Sorry," Chasten said, voice thick, after he'd bared all to Pete. They'd only been together a few months but he had to say it, had to tell Pete what he was getting himself into. "Guess I'm not as strong as I thought I was." 

"I think you're the strongest person I know," Pete said. He didn't mind the wet spot on the front of his shirt or the tissues on the floor. "In my experience the people who spend their lives thinking that they're weak are the strongest ones of all. You just can't see it in yourself." 

"Shut up and hold me," Chasten said, and Pete did, without another word.

Weekends had their own routine. Pete had to plan ahead to get a weekend away from South Bend so usually Chasten would leave Chicago on Friday after work, as early as he could to beat the traffic. When he pulled into the driveway, Pete came out to meet him. The night Pete asked Chasten to move in with him he was wearing a shirt that Chasten had left behind the weekend before. "You're wearing my shirt," Chasten said. 

"I missed you," Pete said, like it was obvious. It should have been obvious. To anyone else it would have been obvious but Chasten was looking from behind the wall he'd barely begun to take down. Pete was helping him dismantle it, a little bit at a time. 

Fridays were for staying in: order in, open a couple beers, play a board game. A good campaign in Risk could go until midnight. Maybe they would watch a movie or an episode of  _ Game of Thrones _ in the bedroom. Maybe they would turn off the light and get into bed to kiss and touch. Maybe they would just go to sleep. Whatever the case, Chasten felt safe there. Nothing could hurt him when he was lying next to Pete, listening to him breathe.

Saturdays could be for anything: going out to dinner, to the movies, or to the river to watch the lights at night. Saturday was the only full day Chasten spent with Pete so he tried to make the most of it. Sometimes there was an event where Pete had to make an appearance. If it was something like a bike ride or a 5k Chasten would go, and if it was something like a budget meeting he would stay in the house. Pete unwound the most on Saturday nights. There were no angry constituents, no city employees, no staff. Just the two of them at home. 

On Sunday mornings Pete went to church. Chasten didn't mind, but he made it very clear that he was not interested in going and wouldn't be pressured into anything. Pete said that was fine, and if Chasten ever changed his mind then he was welcome to come. Pete went to the early service and was usually back before Chasten woke up. It was on a Sunday morning that Chasten woke up to the scent of coffee brewing, in a room lit up with bright winter sunlight, and it hit him that he couldn't remember the last time he'd been so content. Pete came in, still in his good clothes. "Good morning," he said. "Did I wake you?"

"No," Chasten said, when he was thinking  _ I love you _ . Here he was, with the first man who didn't want anything from him, in a place where he felt protected, like anything was possible. He shared the feeling with Pete later, and Pete called it "the morning of the world," which was a quote from something. "It's like a rebirth," he said. "You come through the dark into the morning and everything is brand new." 

"Something like that," Chasten said. 

In the last week leading up to the move, Chasten dreamed every night that he was in a room with an ex, each one worse than the last. Every time he said the same words -  _ it's over, I'm done with you, I met someone _ \- and they would rage and holler, but they never came closer. After one particularly intense dream, of the one that Chasten didn't like to even of his name, he was too antsy to stay in bed and try to go back to sleep. He got up and went to the couch, stretched out. It was early enough in the morning that he could stay awake but not so early that going back to sleep seemed like a bad idea. His eyes fell on the pile of stuff against the wall, everything he wasn't bringing with him. It was a lot, when he looked at it all in one place. Lying on the couch and looking at the remnants of his old life - which he was still living, if only for a few more days - Chasten decided that there was a reason that the exes couldn't touch him. Everything seemed like it was a part of him, but none of it was worth keeping. These things he'd carried with him for months or years, left over from the bad times and lonely nights, all of it stained by the men who had used him - they couldn't hurt him anymore. They weren't coming with him. For the first time since he left home he wouldn't have to worry about running into an ex on the street, or at a party, or anywhere. The peace of mind was invaluable. 

The morning he left Chicago, Chasten made several trips from the apartment to the street corner, bringing the boxes and the bags and ditching them by a trash can. Someone could use these things, and never know where they came from, and not feel anything about it. He was okay with that. He wouldn't be there to see it. 

Some of it would always be with him. He couldn't help that. But he was okay with it. 

Joan Didion wrote an essay about leaving New York. Chasten could write one about leaving Chicago - a beautiful, harsh, vibrant, lonely city, where he had discovered himself and found love after giving up - but there wouldn't be much to it. All he had to say about leaving was that he'd gone to get his life started, and he loved living there, but it was time to move on. For the first time, there was someone waiting for him. 

He called Pete from the car before he left. "I was thinking maybe you'd want to go out to eat tonight," Pete said. "There's that new Italian place on Colfax Avenue."

"Nah," Chasten said. "Let's go tomorrow. Tonight I want you all to myself." 

"Oh," Pete said, and Chasten could practically hear him blushing. "Are you leaving now?"

"I am. If there's no traffic I'll be there around noon."

"I'll be here," Pete said.

As he was getting on the highway Chasten looked in the rearview mirror. The city looked so small in the distance. He turned up the radio and merged into the highway, and didn't look back again.

* * *

_ One of these mornings _

_ And it won't be long _

_ You're gonna wake up _

_ And I'll be gone _

_ \- "Nora's Dove," traditional folk song _


End file.
